Circus of Nightmares: Death is the Ultimate Illusion (The Anglesey Mysteries Book 2)

by Conrad Jones

  ‘It’s cold out there,’ he said. ‘Hello Gill.’

  ‘Hello Len,’ Gill said. She was holding a large latte. ‘Fancy meeting you here. What a coincidence.’

  ‘It’s a small world. To be honest, this is the only place open at this time of night,’ Len said. ‘It’s not such a big coincidence really.’

  ‘Granted, there’s not much open. What brings you to this part of the world?’ Gill asked.

  ‘I often drive around at night,’ Len said. ‘I have trouble sleeping but then you know that.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, Len,’ Gill said. She smiled sadly. ‘A different lifetime.’

  ‘It wasn’t so different,’ Len said. ‘We were a bit younger but we’re the same people. You’ve got a few more stripes on your sleeve but you haven’t changed much. You still make the blood pump faster when I look at you.’

  ‘It’s dark out here and you can’t see the wrinkles around my eyes but thank you. You always were a charmer,’ Gill said. ‘It’s late. Go home and get some sleep.’

  ‘I hardly sleep nowadays,’ Len said. ‘I think it’s knowing I’m going to die soon.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t want to waste the time I have left, in bed sleeping.’ Gill nodded. She had nothing sarcastic to say to that. ‘There’s so much I want to do and so little time to do it in.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gill said. Len grimaced and shrugged. ‘No. Seriously I am sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.’

  ‘I don’t need your pity. Most people would say it is just payback. Karma is a bitch and all that type of nonsense.’ He smiled. ‘Payback for all the shitty things I’ve done in my time, inspector,’ Len said. He finished his coffee and started the engine. The headlights came on and illuminated raindrops. ‘It’s started to rain,’ Len said. ‘You have a safe journey home, Gill. You’re okay for a Dibble.’

  ‘You too,’ Gill said. She put her hand on the window frame before he could close it. ‘I don’t know if it’s a coincidence you’re here but I have a suspicion it isn’t.’ His face didn’t give anything away. ‘Did you follow us?’ she asked, studying his expression.

  ‘Follow you where?’ Len asked. ‘Maccies?’ Gill smiled thinly. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I wanted to see the moon on the sea and I enjoy the drive over the top of the big hill, looking over the Wirral and the lights of Liverpool.’ The clouds parted and the moon shone brightly. ‘It’s very therapeutic.’

  ‘Don’t get involved in this investigation, Len. Let us do our jobs.’

  ‘What investigation?’ Len asked. ‘You haven’t lifted a finger to find Leo for years.’ His eyes gleamed with intelligence but they gave nothing away. ‘Are you telling me you have a new lead to investigate?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything like that,’ Gill said. ‘If we have anything to tell you, we’ll be in touch.’ She turned to walk away. ‘Don’t interfere, Len,’ she added.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Len said, closing the window. He watched Gill climb into her vehicle. She closed the door and he put the car into gear and drove towards the A5 slip road. Len knew she had no clue that he had followed them. He could tell. She was confused as to why he was there and she didn’t believe his explanation but that was all. He put his foot down and drove into the night.

  Anne and Gill watched his taillights fade into the darkness. They drank their coffee. ‘What the hell is Len Jobson doing in Abergele?’

  ‘He said he likes to drive around at night to clear his head,’ Gill said.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Anne said. ‘He’s up to something.’

  ************************************************

  The Victoria emptied out and the locals filed onto the road. Some of them struggled to cope with the gradient. One leg higher than the other after a skinful of lager was not compatible with standing upright. They gathered in groups, chatting about the night’s events. Another group of locals were walking up the hill from the Newry. Their conversation was agitated and emotive. Some of the men and women were angry and aggressive. Others were clearly upset. The drinkers overheard them talking.

  ‘Excuse me. Did you say they’ve found Chelle Branning?’

  ‘Yes,’ one of the women answered. She was crying, her hands curled into fists. ‘They found her floating in the marina near the old MCU jetty. Raped and murdered by the looks of it.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘She’s got no clothes on,’ someone answered.

  ‘The police were here earlier wanting to talk to two of the pikeys from the fair. They mentioned Michelle Branning was missing,’ a man said. ‘One of the men butted sergeant Gerrard and fucked off over the fields towards the quarry.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m no detective but why would he run off if he had nothing to do with it?’

  ‘You don’t headbutt a copper for the fun of it,’ another man said. ‘He is guilty. Why else would he butt a sergeant and run away?’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘About twenty-minutes ago. Right here where we’re standing.’

  ‘Baz threw a pint of piss at one of them,’ a man laughed. He wobbled on unsteady legs. ‘It hit him right in the face. Funny as fuck it was.’

  ‘I say we go and find him,’ Baz said.

  ‘We know the quarry and the paths like the back of our hands.’

  ‘The police are at the bottom of the Newry stopping anyone going down the quarry road.’

  ‘We’ll go over the fields and follow him that way. The police won’t see us. Has anyone got a torch in their car?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Me too. I’ll get mine. I have a baseball bat in the boot too.’

  ‘Nice one. Let’s get this pervert and smash his head in. Murdering, rapist isn’t getting away with it in our town.’

  Chapter 22

  Lottie was sitting in her trailer, tired and concerned. It had been a dreadful day at the circus of nightmares. How ironic. The thought made her put things into perspective. Things could always be worse. Liz was sitting opposite her and the twins were on the settee. They were all drinking honey flavoured Jack Daniels. The twins were out of costume, showered and looking handsome. They were both dark haired with olive skin and brown eyes. The similarity between them was striking. Not identical but not far from it. Hugo was an inch taller.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’ Lottie asked Liz. ‘What if something terrible has happened to her?’

  ‘Because the police have been around all evening,’ Liz said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you. I thought she was just late and had gone to the port or something. With everything that’s been going on, I didn’t even know she wasn’t back in her trailer until an hour ago.’

  ‘You don’t know where she went to meet him?’ Hugo asked.

  ‘No. she didn’t say.’ Liz shook her head. ‘You know what she’s like about him. She pretends there’s nothing going on. She always has.’ She paused. ‘Sometimes, she stays out with him but she always answers her phone. She’s not answering. Neither is he. That is unusual.’

  ‘I’ll ring him,’ Lottie said. She scrolled through her contacts. The phone rang and switched straight to voicemail. She left a brief message. ‘He’s not answering to me either.’

  ‘She didn’t say what he wanted?’ Hugo asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, we need to speak to him pronto,’ Boris said. ‘If his mechanics have been spiking local women, we’re going to struggle to replace them before the crossing on Friday. We need to refuel everything before we get on the ferry.’

  ‘It’s not the end of the world. We’ll cope,’ Lottie said. ‘If his men have been stalking women, I don’t want them anywhere near us. I won’t have perverts anywhere near my circus.’

  ‘I say we wait and see what comes out in the wash,’ Hugo said. ‘The police always blame the travellers first and investigate later. Those women were drunk. Anyone could have spiked them. The missing woman is probably asleep somewhere she shouldn’t be.’

  ‘I under
stand that,’ Lottie said, nodding. ‘But the fact is, a young woman is missing. Missing women are not good news for anyone, us or the town. The press will be down here tomorrow. We need to make sure no one makes a comment to the newspapers. They’ll twist anything we say. I have a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘Lighten up, Lottie. You have a bad feeling about everything,’ Boris said. ‘Let’s not worry about it until we know the truth. The woman is probably in town pissed in a pub or gone home with someone she’s met at the fair. How many times have we seen this?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Lottie said. ‘I’m tired. We need to keep on our toes tonight. That missing woman is worrying me. If the locals think it is one of our employees who is responsible for her disappearing, there will be a backlash. The police have been all over us as it is.’

  ‘Are you still worried about councillor Orange?’ Boris asked. He shook his head and grinned. ‘Stupid little man might think twice before he goes shooting his mouth off.’

  ‘You need to take it seriously,’ Lottie warned. ‘If the councillor doesn’t recover, they’ll be back to speak to you two. His wife said he was punched by a big clown.’ The twins laughed. ‘That’s you and it’s not funny.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Hugo said. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘I’m worried. It’s easy to say don’t worry but I do. The police said Malcolm Orange told his wife he was punched by a big clown,’ Lottie protested. ‘How can I not worry about it?’

  ‘No one hit the silly old fool. He had a turn, fell and banged his head. We all saw that happen,’ Boris said. Hugo nodded in agreement. ‘Anyway, it’s he said, she said. There were no witnesses to back him up.’

  ‘Did you punch him?’ Lottie asked. She frowned.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Boris said, shaking his head.

  ‘Ridiculous?’ Lottie frowned. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time you two have been overprotective.’

  ‘We look after our little sister,’ Hugo said. ‘You should be grateful.’

  ‘I am but if he pushes the assault allegation, you two could be in trouble.’ Lottie emptied her glass. ‘I don’t want you two locked up in a cell. We’re on that ferry on Friday with or without you.’

  ‘That’s a Bono song,’ Hugo said. ‘He’s Irish.’ Lottie looked at him unimpressed. ‘They only have his wife’s statement to go on,’ Hugo said. ‘And that’s second-hand information from a man with a brain injury under the influence of drugs.’

  ‘Nothing will come of it,’ Boris said. The twins exchanged glances. Lottie caught it but didn’t challenge them. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Lottie said. She topped up her glass, sipped her drink and rolled another cigarette. ‘With everything that’s been happening, I haven’t been over to see dad today. Is he alright?’

  ‘He’s the same as he always is,’ Hugo said. ‘He thinks mum is coming home this week. I found him looking for a paintbrush this morning. He said he was going to paint the caravan blue before she came home. Apparently, blue is her favourite colour. It took me twenty minutes to convince him she liked it as it was.’ Hugo finished his drink. ‘Ten minutes later he was looking for the paint. He’s away with the fairies half the time and sleeping the rest. We’re going to have to put him in a home at some point. The sooner the better. He’s becoming a liability.’

  ‘He’s not going into a home,’ Lottie said. ‘We’ve discussed this before. It’s not happening.’

  ‘We can’t watch him twenty-four hours a day. I found him in the prop tent last week, messing with a flamethrower,’ Hugo said.

  ‘That’s his memory returning. He would spend all day in the prop tent if we let him. That was his thing,’ Lottie said. ‘It happens sometimes but it doesn’t last long.’

  ‘We can’t afford to look back through rose-tinted spectacles,’ Hugo said. ‘At some point he will hurt himself or someone else. Again.’

  ******************************************

  Carlos stopped running when his lungs were fit to burst. His eyes had adjusted to the dark but he’d run straight into a fog bank. He couldn’t see more than a few yards in front of him. The grass was becoming longer and the ground boggy. His trainers were soaking wet and caked in mud. He’d nearly lost them on a couple of occasions as the bog tried to suck them from his feet. The further he went, the deeper his feet sank into the mire. He had to turn back before he got stuck completely. Carlos pushed his hands into his pockets and felt the bottle of flunitrazepam tablets. It pained him to lose them but he had no choice. He took them out and dropped them into the bog. The bottle remained just below the grass. He stood on it and pushed it deep into the mud. That was the end of that problem. The police had nothing. Assaulting the policeman wouldn’t be taken lightly but he was under the influence of alcohol and they’d been assaulted by the locals. Everyone saw the youth throwing piss at them. He could plead that his actions were provoked by fear of being attacked. It was an impulse reaction. Not his usual behaviour by any stretch of the imagination. His record was clean. He’d made sure of that. The police had never discovered who slit their stepfather’s throat while he was drunk and sleeping next to his new barmaid, who was also too drunk to know what was happening. She’d woken up covered in blood and immediately called the police. The police had suspected her but there was no murder weapon and the back door had been broken into. His blood was found on the wall and gate outside in the backyard, which was enough to cast doubt that she’d killed him. Of course, the brothers were travelling with the fair and no one knew where they were. If the police ever traced them, they had an alibi. Each other.

  Carlos backed out of the marsh and headed down the slope. He had no idea where it would lead him. The incline would hopefully be easier to navigate than the marshland. After what felt like an age, he reached a hedge and followed it until he found a gate. He stopped and listened for the sound of an engine, imagining police cars searching for him but it was quiet. The fog gave him some confidence, offering him a grey shroud to hide in. He heard voices on the wind and tried to understand what they were saying but the words were blown away. They were further away than he imagined. He climbed over the gate and jumped down onto the gravel path on the other side. It wasn’t a proper road. A shadow appeared on the other side of the gate. His heart stopped. Something loomed in the mist. He relaxed a little when his brain identified the silhouette of a horse. Its breath formed a cloud of condensation in the air. A second animal joined it and they stood in the mist staring at him. They made him feel uneasy. He patted them on the nose and looked to his left and right. Picking which direction to go in was impossible. He had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it wrong. The voices he’d heard were to his left. He decided to go in the opposite direction.

  ***************************************************

  Baz and three other men from the pub had crossed the muddy fields and found the quarry road beyond the police cordon. They were all in their early twenties and unpredictable. Two carried baseball bats and the other, a tyre iron. It was cold and their feet were wet. The bottom of Baz’s jeans was rubbing his leg painfully. Hunting down the pikey didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. The novelty of being part of a vigilante mob had worn off, especially as only three of them had actually joined the mob. Three others made it down the hill as far as the stile, which led into the fields before turning back. They flagged down a passing taxi and flicked the middle finger as they drove away laughing. It wasn’t as much fun as they thought it would be and it was hard going. Baz was panting like a dog and he could hear the other two puffing and blowing. The alcohol and testosterone fuelled aggression had worn off. Baz wanted to go home and crawl into bed but he couldn’t lose face now.

  They walked towards the quarry in silence, none of them wanted to be the first to say they wanted to go home. The road was narrow and thin with high banks on either side. It was once the railway track which carried thousands of tons of rock from the quarry to build the breakwater. Over a
mile long, it was straight as a die. About halfway to the quarry, there was a stone bridge over the road. It was used to allow cattle to cross the railway line, moving the grazing from one stretch of fields to another. Baz jogged up the slipway onto the bridge to get a better view and called to the others, in hushed tones.

  ‘Up here,’ he said. They joined him on the bridge. They crouched against the wall, resting. All three were completely miserable. ‘I say we wait here for ten minutes and if he doesn’t turn up, we go home. I’m freezing.’

  ‘Me too. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Do we have to wait that long?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I’m knackered.’

  ‘This was your shit idea in the first place,’ Baz said. He heard footsteps and put his forefinger to his lips. A shadow immerged from the direction of the quarry. He could see the shape of a man appearing from the gloom. His shoulders were hunched, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. ‘Shush. Look there,’ he whispered. ‘That’s the rapist.’

  ‘Is that him?’

  ‘Who else would be down here this late at night?’ Baz said. ‘Duck behind the wall until he goes underneath.’ The three men hid while the solitary figure reached the bridge and walked underneath. Baz felt his shoulder pressed against the big stone blocks the bridge was built from. They were three times the size of a house brick. One of them felt loose. ‘Psst,’ he whispered. He pointed to the block. ‘Let’s drop this on the fucker.’

  The three men wrestled with the block and lifted it free of the wall. They carried it to the opposite side and rested it on the guard wall. The lone male appeared from underneath the bridge and they pushed the block. It landed on the target with a dull thud. The man crumpled to the road his skull broken and his neck at an awkward angle.